Breathe
Casey brought the van to a screeching stop behind the emergency vehicles in front of the parking garage. And Michelangelo was hyperventilating. It was hard to tell what—if anything—Donatello had found when all he did was yell out their names. Mikey seized the door handle to investigate in person when April grabbed his other hand.
"Don't, Mike! I'm sorry, but there are too many people. You can't move fast enough right now to stay hidden."
He yanked his arm away. "Watch me."
Just then, Splinter's voice rang out from the phone.
"Donatello! Did you locate Raphael? Is the girl… present?"
Michelangelo paused, listening intently. He slumped as Don replied with the two words he'd been praying for. "They're alive." Whatever else he said whizzed in one ear and out the other.
"You get all that?" April asked Casey as she tugged a limp Mikey back into his chair and buckled his seat belt.
"Yeah, meet them at the marina." He glanced at the turtle having a meltdown in the back before shoving the vehicle into gear. "Don't worry Mike. I'll get us there."
Grimly Michelangelo nodded to show he'd heard, but he was well beyond worry. He'd passed worried way back in the lair when Leonardo stormed out. Frantic whizzed by when Sharra screamed, progressing into full-fledged terror as his brothers went silent one by one.
Raphael hadn't chimed in on anything since they hit the water. Donatello's report had been brief, so at least one of the two was still at risk. And Leo went dark ten minutes ago. His shell cell wasn't even pinging as part of the party line anymore.
Mikey's left hand crept up to rub his chest. The crushing weight pressing against it hadn't abated at the news. In fact, the tension was building to a crescendo. Breathing deeply against the ache that now felt distinctly like pain, he shut his eyes and tried seeking inward again—to see if Sharra's connection shed any light on the problem.
As of yet, he had very little control over his Sight. He had not been awake long enough or had much aural strength in the intervening week for Splinter to teach him more than the basics of Looking. Which was probably why he failed to locate her link the first time around. But he had to try again.
Because either something is still terribly wrong with her… or I'm having a heart attack.
Honestly, he couldn't be sure. Both were options at this point.
Up front, Casey had the van moving at a pretty good clip but April hadn't resumed her seat. Instead, she knelt next to him. She touched his arm and asked if he was OK, but he couldn't concentrate on her voice. Because something stabbed him in the side.
He gasped and clutched at his bridge. The pain wasn't awful, just unexpected. And it seemed to be confined to a single spot under his left elbow. But it drew his wildly questing Sight to a specific point inside.
That was where he finally found the violet thread binding him to Sharra.
No sooner had he located it, than an excruciating ripping sensation stole his breath. The precious connection stretched taut and frayed before his eyes. Another violent yank made his body spasm and curl inward as the link thinned further—until it snapped.
"Nooooooooooo!" he screamed aloud. The heat in his chest exploded as his mind and soul echoed the heartrending cry. As Sharra's gentle presence—her life's essence—faded from his Sight.
Instinctively, he flung energy after hers, chasing the last strand down as it fluttered away. He barely managed to catch hold. Gripping it hard in tight mental fists, he hauled it back. And the physical agony, which disappeared with her connection, crashed into him again.
His limbs froze. His lungs collapsed. And Sharra's thoughts slammed into his.
'Mikey? Mikey, please… My chest hurts. And I'm so cold. Just let me go…'
'Never babe! Stay with me, PLEASE! I can help! Give me time to figure this out!'
"Mike?" April was shaking his shoulders, calling for her husband to pull over. "Casey, he's not breathing!"
Lightening zinged through Michelangelo's brain in a shock of recognition at April's words. Sharra wasn't either. That's what the pain meant. His body and hers were behaving as one. His sensations were a copy of hers, and her organs were shutting down. Her blood was too cold. Her lungs weren't pumping any air.
But what if this goes both ways? If she is making me shut down, can I help her function?
Concentrating with everything he had, he hurled out his strength to reinforce her —along with a stern mental command. One he compelled his own lungs to obey as well.
"Sharra, breathe!"
It's still impossible.
Donatello examined the circumstances in every way conceivable as he steered back toward the port, but the result didn't change. No matter how he ran the numbers: modifying the equation to account for the protection of Raph's Nightwatcher armor; the water temperature slowing his blood flow; the pressure from the depth of the river—hell, even Sharra somehow doing CPR while keeping him afloat—he still arrived at the same conclusion.
Raphael shouldn't be alive.
Not that Donnie wasn't thankful, he just couldn't fathom what Sharra had done to prevent what should have been a scientific inevitability. But pinpointing why either of them was still among the living was difficult.
He stared down at the brother in question leaning against the wall to his left. Raph was resting on towels, covered with foil blankets, and nestled into every other piece of dry fabric onboard. His teeth were still chattering and he shivered as he met Donatello's incredulous gaze. But his eyes were alert. They declared without words that he was tired, sore, and cranky as fuck.
How did she do it?
"Tell me again what happened," Don pressed, not only to keep Raphael conscious but also to distract himself from his own torment.
He darted a look at the tiny bundle cocooned at his feet, zipped into his puffy coat like a sleeping bag. Sharra had stabilized but she hadn't reawakened. His emergency procedure had helped, but at one point in the process her heart stopped completely.
She was only gone a moment. He didn't even have time to start CPR before she was back and finally started breathing on her own. But the scare crushed him. He feared he would never get the image of her lying on the bloody deck out of his head. She lay so very still with that syringe sticking out of her side.
I almost lost her…
He looked away quickly. He couldn't dwell on her condition or he would lose his mental equilibrium again.
I can't do anything more for her anyway. Not until we arrive and I get some assistance.
Though it was hard to make an entire yacht disappear, they were returning as invisibly as possible. That meant cruising slowly, and it was driving him crazy. Donnie yearned to speed back as recklessly as he had out, but there were too many observers.
Dozens of boats with flashing lights were now on the water, dashing to the scene. Don ducked as yet another set sped by. Luckily, their craft had a cabin-like bridge to hide the pair of pirating turtles from view. Mostly.
"Everythin' was fuh-fine til this Foot soldier went ta ram Sharra with a car," Raphael said. "I got ta her before Fuh-Fearless. And a good thing too. His shell ain't as thick as mine. It hit us hard and thuh-threw us over the rail. I tried to break the fuh-fall." He shrugged. "Cracked the back a' my head. After that, I gah-got nothing. I woke up ta you."
Donnie grunted and cranked the heating up another notch.
"She said she got you breathing again."
"And?"
"And you don't remember how she assisted?"
"What part of na-knocked out ain't you gettin'?"
Don ignored his brother's agitation, considering more hypothetical possibilities. Like the one Splinter proposed between Sharra and Michelangelo. A deep emotional bond.
Could she have connected with Raphael the way she did Mike? Didn't that only happen out of love? She feared Raph when we left. What changed?
His theories must be showing on his face because Raphael growled.
"Duh-don't even think it, brainiac. She prah-probably did somethin' simple. So don't get all bah-bent out of shape over it."
"You don't understand," Donatello complained.
"Surprise, surprise," Raphael muttered.
"You both should have been comatose. Being warm-blooded shouldn't have bolstered her that much. And the chances of you specifically, waking back up fully intact or just SURVIVING the cold…were less than zero."
"So she saved me. So what? You came along and saved her right buh-back. Now we're all going home ta MIKE—to live happily ever after. End of story."
Donnie growled in frustration. "What happened is NOT POSSIBLE without the transference of vast amounts of energy. And Sharra didn't have anything physical to spare. She was functioning on only one lung! There is no solution left to consider…except emotion."
"What? You tha-think she likes me? The way she duh-does Mikey?" Raph gurgled a disbelieving laugh. "No way in hell."
"Why?" Don frowned in confusion. "Don't you want her to?"
"You're the one who cah-called her love," he groused, avoiding the question.
"Uh, that? Oh, it's uh, simply a turn of phrase. I didn't mean anything by it."
"Uh-huh."
"You've got no room to talk," Donatello shot back. "You dove off a building after her."
"No, I jumped in front'a the car. The cah-car knocked us off."
"Same difference."
An awkward silence fell.
"You called her Shay," Don mused. "You've only met her twice. It's kind of early for a nickname, don't you think? Besides, isn't that Mikey's forté?"
"S'not that. My thuh-throat hurt. Had ta remind you to get buh-back ta her quick."
"Uh-huh. So why did you dive in front of the car?"
Raphael continued to offer his trademark glare. "That's a duh-dumb question, ain't it?"
"Not really. It speaks to motivation. Did you do it to save the family? Or Sharra?"
Raph closed his eyes.
"Sa-same difference."
The silence returned—and persisted—until they pulled into the empty berth reserved for this particular boat. Then Don went on deck, prepared to direct traffic. He was expecting a mob. Their whole frantic household, perhaps, poised on the dock. Because all they knew were Raph and Sharra made it on board. All other updates were pending.
"Donatello?" Splinter called from the pier. "Where are they?" He leaped straight up twelve feet and cleared the boat's railing, landing on the bow before Donnie got the mooring rope tied off.
"In here, father." Don guided the way into the cabin.
Splinter rushed to Raphael's side, pulling an arm over his shoulder. Then he gestured for the shadow—who ghosted up behind him—to take the other. But Leonardo hesitated at the door, examining the group of too-large mutants inside the too-small room. His gaze lingered on Sharra as Donatello bent to gather her from the floor.
The genius ignored the intrusive stare. He felt more comfortable concentrating on Sharra now that someone else was attending to Raphael. But what he observed about the poor unconscious girl didn't grant him any peace of mind.
Oh love...what have we done?
She weighed next to nothing in his arms, even sopping wet. The down-filled jacket he wrapped around her had more mass. His stomach hollowed with nausea.
Her nutrition didn't improve after we left. But how could it? She's been running for her life. And her injuries… They are so much worse.
Her coloring had also not recovered since her collapse, and her skin looked horrible. A bluish tinge from her lack of oxygen intake fought with distinct shades of mottled yellow-brown and purplish-black from layered bruising. The slash on her neck flashed at him—the scar smooth and silvery among another set of discolored contusions. And he marveled at how healed it was compared to her other wounds. By contrast, the split in her forehead, obtained the same day, was red and raw—rough where Leonardo's slice was clean.
Raising his eyes, Don scowled bitterly at his oldest brother.
I should have gone in earlier. Things might not have escalated into the water. She called for MY help, screamed for ME, and I didn't go. Because I was following orders…
He fought an urge to turn his shell on the leader, then shrugged and went ahead and showed his disrespect. Tonight his trust in that leadership was damaged, severely. Leo had been acting irrational for weeks and his behavior culminated in tragedy.
Ancestors know what he was actually DOING, since father ended up taking command.
Leonardo didn't react to the gesture. His focus remained fixed on Sharra, though he didn't seem to comprehend what, or who, he was looking at. His eyes were utterly blank, yet they were blue-grey—not the fearsome crystal clear of his savage alter ego.
As Donnie swept out, he shouldered his brother aside, scrunching his beak at the strong coppery smell emanating from his clothes. It might not be visible on the dark fabric, but…
Whatever he did doused him in blood.
Pushing the disconcerting thought from his mind, he jumped to the floating boardwalk, flexing his legs to keep the shock of landing from exacerbating Sharra's wounds.
"Donatello, please go ahead," Splinter said as the genius waited for them below, "Mr. Jones has helpfully brought us the van. He is in position in the parking lot. Leonardo and I will help Raphael."
At least we won't have to limp home through the sewers.
Don sighed in relief as he jogged through the cold toward shore. April descended from the vehicle as soon as he approached. She threw a blanket around him, but his eyes widened as the side door slid open and a distraught Michelangelo extended his arms for Sharra.
Their little brother looked like he had been dragged face-first through all nine layers of Hell. His skin couldn't turn any more grey, and his body was about to crumple. His eyes gleamed and his breath hitched as Donatello hesitated in front of him.
Did he experience another vision? I only just released him from the infirmary!
"Mike! I— I didn't expect to see you so soon. I did all I could… "
Donnie's voice died to a whisper as he glanced down at the beaten girl in his arms.
I was hoping to at least warn him before he saw her like this, to spare him some grief.
"I'm so sorry," he finished, still clutching Sharra close.
The blood drained from Michelangelo's countenance, turning it white in an instant. His eyes snapped to Sharra's face. "Did something change in the last few minutes?" he demanded in desperation. "I didn't let go. I'm still feeding her thread. She can't be de—"
"No!" Don cut in. He didn't understand all of what Mike was babbling about, but his brother's panicked—incorrect—assumption about her condition had to be halted immediately. Before he did himself further harm.
"No," he repeated in a more comforting tone. "She's stable. It's just…" Unable to find the words to express his regret for everything that happened, he fell silent and shook his head.
"Donnie…please," Mikey begged, as the arms he held out vibrated with need, "Let me take her."
I'm not certain he has the strength to hold her, even as light as she is.
Against his better judgment, Donatello ever so gently lowered his burden toward Michelangelo's stronger left side. Mike gathered Sharra to him and placed the back of his right hand on her cheek—angling it to feel the air leaving her nose. He blew out a noisy sigh—that sounded suspiciously like a sob—and drew her closer when he was sure she was breathing.
Then he shifted carefully. Sinking back in his chair until he could brace his feet on the rear of the seat in front of him. He tenderly cradled her on his plastron with one arm and both knees as he tucked her under his chin—in essence forming himself around her as a protective shell. The position had to hurt with his injuries, but Michelangelo didn't even flinch.
"I wish I could tell you it's not as bad as it looks," Donnie said, wiping his face with a hand in weariness. "But we need her in the infirmary ASAP. She needs oxygen. And please be careful of her ribs. I've already performed one emergency operation tonight."
Mikey nodded and pressed his lips to her forehead before bowing his head to bury his face in her wet hair. April stepped forward and layered a blanket over them, for warmth and privacy. When she finished, Don turned away and shut the door, pretending not to notice his brother crying.
They deserve at least that much of a reunion.
He pulled his own quilt tighter as he walked to the back of the vehicle. It had hurt handing Sharra over. Holding her had provided his battered heart with some comfort. He could see her breathing first hand, feel her heartbeat. But the way Mike was acting, Donnie suspected his little brother needed the physical contact in a more medical capacity. Though this whole aura/chi energy business was too new for him to know for sure.
April followed him, making him pause with a light hand on his shell.
"Mike had an… episode on the way here," she said with concern. "We were heading out to meet you and he started screaming. He curled up and I feared..."—she lowered her voice—"I thought he had stopped breathing. By the time I got Casey to help me, he was back, sort of. That's why he looks so odd."
Donatello breathed out hard and momentarily closed his eyes, filing the information away to check out at home. "Thanks for looking after him, April. I feel like we're all going to be living in the infirmary for a while."
"If it would help, we can stay over," April offered.
"I will definitely take you up on that," Don said with a grateful smile.
Feeling like he'd aged a hundred years in the last hour, he climbed into the warm van through the back entrance and settled into one of the captain's chairs.
"What about Raph?" Casey asked from the front.
"Father and Leo are helping him," Don said. "They'll be along in a minute. I don't know how, but he's doing OK. He's awake and moving and, typically, pissed off. He still needs treatment for hypothermia and rest for a few days, but he seems miraculously unscathed."
Casey blew out his cheeks in relief. "Oh, well. That's good…right?"
"Hmm, yes. Inconceivable, but good."
Leonardo blinked, somewhat restored to consciousness. But the events that brought him here, to this unusual little chamber on top of a boat—rising and falling in time with his breath—were a blur of half-formed memories. Only when Donatello moved—picking up a bundle of rags wrapped in his winter overcoat in a strangely delicate way—did the situation come crashing back. For Donnie wasn't cradling tattered scraps against his plastron.
It was a body. All that remained of her.
No… oh no…
Blue lips and skin leached of all color, contrasted the horrible contusions across her face. The scarred slash at her neck, caused by his own blade, winked at him evilly. The rest of her torments were shrouded from view.
Sharra was dead. Leo already knew this. His heart had fractured the moment her scream cut off. But he hadn't expected to be confronted with her lifeless form.
A wailing keen stuck in his throat and a thousand futile questions piled up behind. But he couldn't give voice to them. The gut-wrenching agony ripping through his chest wouldn't allow him to speak.
He longed to snatch her away. To press his lips to hers and breathe sweet life back into her. But if that had been possible, Don would have already done it.
Instead, Donatello met his anguished eyes with a hostile look and swept past him without a word, shouldering his frozen frame out of the way. Leaving their most unlikely brother to deal with his stunned despair.
"Stop it," Raphael ground out, yanking him up short. "Nothin's changed. She's still breathin', so quit goin' ta pieces and get ova' here. I wanna go home."
For the second time in an hour, Leonardo's heart stuttered, stopped, and started again; and when the beat stabilized, he was someone else entirely.
"She's alive?" he croaked.
"A'course!" Raph griped through chattering teeth, irritated by Leo's inaction. "It was tah-touch and go for a while. Her lungs quit once, but Don fixed it. He toe-told everyone she made it. Didn't you cah-copy?"
Leo shook his head. He hadn't heard anything since she screamed.
Raphael grunted in sudden understanding and looked away, offering him a second to process.
"Leonardo," Splinter chided, "we must move. Both have need of our medical facilities."
With a brisk nod, Leonardo entered and crouched to assist his brother. Though he was anxious to follow Donnie—and Sharra—back to shore.
Raph planted a palm on his shoulder and groaned with exertion as he regained his feet, but he scowled at Leo. He tilted his head at the red smear left on his hand. "What the hell happened while ya weren't listening?" He wrinkled his beak before wiping the blood transfer off onto one of the towels covering him. "Ya' look terrible," he noted, "And ya stink."
Leonardo clenched his jaw and said nothing.
What happened? I lost my mind.
"After the car," Splinter answered, "we were set upon by reinforcements. Your brother dealt with them—most efficiently."
Leo grimaced at his father's discreet description of events. The reality had been far deadlier. When the guy driving had jumped out the door pumping his fist in self-congratulation, five squads of Foot had attacked simultaneously.
And the silence after Sharra's scream died in the abyss, accomplished what no mere ninja could ever hope to do.
It broke him.
His heart clenched, then seized. And the only part of himself that remained ceased to care about holding his demons back. The monster within him tore free.
It had already hovered near the surface, having had a taste of death in Sharra's defense. Now that she was gone, rage—and the promise of unspeakable revenge—tinged his eyes black. The result was a bloodbath.
The rest of the battle he remembered in flashes only.
His swords sprang from their sheaths and sang a deadly descant. The blades sliced through necks, elbows, and legs—regardless of bone.
A single thrust through the chest of the driver of the car, and a twisted hilt, made his family's killer shudder and collapse onto the hood vomiting blood.
Droplets of the same liquid spun away in delicate arcs as he whirled in a devastating dance of demise; painting the sordid battleground red.
And panting as he stood in the now vacant building facing off against the only remaining being besides himself still standing; his father.
It was the most lethal attack he had ever unleashed. And though he was surrounded by dismembered remains—and drenched in blood—it was not enough to appease his wrath.
For if he let the fury fade, grief was all that was left to rise in its place.
He had stepped forward, ready to rain destruction on the city—on any opponent he could find—when Splinter's palm flattened on his chest. Leo glared down. His father's dark eyes glinted up at him, full of fear.
Not of him but for him.
Splinter didn't utter a word, but warmth throbbed through Leonardo's plastron as the hand glowed. Memories swirled in his mind. Happier times with his siblings. Adventures when they depended on his level-headed leadership. Battles when they had sacrificed for him and each other.
His family gave him a purpose outside of immediate vengeance.
Donatello, Raphael, Michelangelo. My brothers. My responsibility. By blood and by choice.
Sharra may be gone, but they were still here.
The image of Mikey's face as he sat on the floor of the kitchen when they left, full of betrayal, jolted his conscience back to life. They needed him now more than ever. How could he leave them to mourn alone? Especially when the blame for Sharra's death lay on him. His poor decisions, made in selfish fear, led directly to her demise.
I had to go home and bear the shame—and their hate—so they might forgive themselves.
And afterward? Afterward, he would exit; knowing they still had each other to depend on.
Though I was going to take the entirety of the Foot Clan to hell with me.
He subdued the beast raging inside him with a great deal of effort. Even still, he was a hollow of his former self as he followed his master away from the flames. Nothing but a shadow…until he learned she survived.
His heart pounded anew, invigorated. Now there was a reason to stay. To live. Sharra still walked among them.
And twenty-six, no, twenty-nine, of her tormentors do not.
Leo smiled mercilessly at the thought. Now that his more moral side was back in control, he should feel remorse for doling out so much death. But a lick of fury still simmered below his surface facade. It whispered how they deserved it.
Is this the monster speaking out? Rearing its ugly head? Refusing to be quelled?
Maybe. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to regret his actions.
Raphael answered the grin, eyes gleaming as he read between the lines of what Splinter and his brother did not say.
"You get 'em all?" he asked roughly.
Leonardo gave a sharp nod.
"The damn car driver too?"
Another nod.
Raphael's smirk broadened into a vicious showing of teeth.
"Good. Now grab my gear and let's go home."